Half a Joke
by ariom
Summary: When Q decides to shift universes, have fun and cause trouble for the Liberator and the Federation, he may have picked on the wrong people...


HALF A JOKE

It is a well known fact that the potential of Q of the Continuum for mischief making is unboundless. Recently however he had become bored with Jean Luc and his enterprising little company. And the reaction of Sisko, whom he had thought would be interesting, had been just a mite too physical for comfort.

So he moved sideways (or whichever way it was he chose) in space and time and slipped along all the possible variations of here and now and then and there until he found one that took his fancy.

He watched and deliberated for a while and then came to the conclusion that yes, this situation definitely had potential.

He smiled then, a very Q–like smile, and made his plans...

Something odd and scary was going on. Vila had come along this passage to this particular intersection on the Liberator half a hundred times at least. Until now it had always been the same: straight ahead was the primary component store, containing a vast collection of data and chips and memory boards, circuitry models and other incomprehensibly named items he usually had to fetch for Avon. The right hand passage led to the clothing storage room, a recycling area and storage racks for seats, cushions and other small items of furniture and fittings. To the left one could return to the flight deck via the teleport area and sundry corridors.

But this time it was different.

Ahead, and to the right and left the corridor stretched for maybe three or four metres. Then there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was a thick oozing nasty grey type of nothing, and even from this distance he could feel the chill off it.

Open mouthed, bewildered and terrified beyond words, Vila stared; dumbly until the realized the grey voids on all three sides showed the common characteristic of movement. Slowly but inexorably they were advancing on him. He shrieked and swung around. Behind him should lie safety, for in the direction from which he had come there was – or should be – a straight stretch, with doors leading off to their individual living and sleeping units.

But there again was only the same nasty grey nothingness. Vila gulped, shook his head energetically and rubbed his eyes. A nightmare, a bad dream, a hellish hallucination; it had to be so. He pinched his arm and winced.

He was wide awake and trembling as from all directions the misty grey increased its rate of approach and closed in on him. He had time for just one frantic squawk, "Avon!" before it touched him and he dropped like a stone.

He was in a nightmare of non–existence; there was darkness all around. He was cold, chilled to the bone. There was deep and total silence and apart from the cold nothing else at all. Time passed; a minute, an hour, an eternity? He had no way of telling.

Then there was a slow sensation of settling and he became aware of a hard surface beneath him. The cold and the darkness fled and he opened his eyes cautiously, one at a time. One blink was enough; it was in fact too much, and he shut them again hastily.

He was no longer on the Liberator.

Where the hell he was he had no idea. He didn't really want to know. It was no longer cold. As a matter of fact it was warm. Downright uncomfortably warm, if it came to that. For one horrible moment he thought he might actually be dead and that the old tales of burning in hell might be true. He opened his eyes again slowly and tried to sit up.

His head hurt, his back hurt and everywhere else hurt too. It was not a dramatic or life threatening sort of hurt, just a dull ache that told him that wherever he was, he definitely was not dead. Unless being dead was painful.

The air was warm and dry but it smelled all right. Actually, it smelled of nothing at all. The sky above him was a brilliant green but he could not see the sun.

So he wasn't in hell, he wasn't on the Liberator and he wasn't on Earth.

Hewas lying on the edge of a precipice.

Vila yelped and came fully awake with a fright. He lay flat on his stomach, his head pillowed on one hand. The other hand was outstretched and his fingers – his oh so precious and talented fingers – hung over nothingness. For several moments he lay absolutely still, his breathing and rapid heartbeat gradually slowing back to normal. Then, infinitely carefully, he withdrew from the edge of the cliff, until he was able to come shakily to his feet.

He was clearly in a very awkward position. He stood, not exactly on the top of a cliff, but on a narrow ledge part way down one. Barely three metres across at its widest point, it curved lazily away to narrow and disappear completely in one direction.

Beneath his feet there was sand, thick and grainy, ranging in colour from pale aqua to deepest ultramarine, the grains large and dry and almost soft. Bending, he took up a handful and let it dribble to the ground then turned carefully to look in the opposite direction.

Then he blinked and rubbed his eyes. The ledge again narrowed and disappeared, but not far from its end lay a woman's still figure.

Cally. As he had been, she lay with her head pillowed on her hand and her eyes still closed. Vila caught his breath and started towards her, moving as carefully as possible, bearing in mind both his precarious position and the chasm beside them both.

Then he knelt down, his arm across her protectively. She was breathing; he could see the slight motion, and then she murmured and opened her eyes and blinked once or twice.

"Don't move!" His voice was low and she stared up at him, her body suddenly tense. "Cally? Are you all right? No, don't move too quickly. We're in...ah... a not very good place. Be careful. Here, I'll help you up." As he was speaking, he was helping her carefully to her feet, holding her arm. A too sudden move on her part could send them both over the edge of the cliff and that was the last thing he'd want to happen. She stepped away from the edge and moved automatically to brush down her clothing, a long and clinging creamy coloured dress he couldn't recall having seen her wear before. But she was now staring at him in puzzlement and Vila frowned. "Are you all right, Cally?"

"Cally," she repeated, and then again, "Cally..." He could see the confusion inside her mirrored in her eyes as she stared at him. "I'm... Cally. Am I? Am I Cally?"

"Oh dear." Vila shook his head. "Don't you know who you are? Do you know who I am? Do you remember what happened?"

Her expression was grave as she returned his gaze.

"No. No, I don't. I don't remember anything at all. No, wait... I was... on a ship somewhere. And then..." She waved one hand helplessly but elegantly. "And then I was here. Wherever here is. Do you know where we are?"

"No. But I – "

"But you know who I am. Do you know who you are?"

He laughed uneasily. "Um, yes. But..." Something quite decidedly odd was going on here. Apart from the obvious. He held out his hand to her. "Ah, come over here, away from the edge, and let's see what we can sort out. I don't know how we got here, either, wherever here is. But at least I do know who I am and who you are. That's a start."

"Yes." She smiled at him again, a curving and rather un Cally like expression. "That's a start." She quirked her eyebrows at him. "And...exactly...who are you?"

Things did not feel right. She had gone to sleep sitting on the comfortable lounger in one of the recreation rooms but that was not where she was waking up. She didn't know where it was that she was waking up, but she had the quite distinct feeling that wherever it was she should not have been there.

Cautiously she opened one eye and then quickly shut it again. She had to gather her thoughts together. Clearly this place was not the Liberator.

She was in a large and light coloured room. The carpet underfoot was pale grey and the furniture deeper shades of the same colour, along with black and white in places. It was cool, elegant and luxurious and altogether nothing at all like where she had gone to sleep. The chair where she was seated fitted itself to her bodily contours and the desk before her was designed not only for efficiency but to impress.

She swung around on the chair to a viewscreen cum window. There lay the black void of space, sprinkled with stars and several small and not too distant spacecraft. Cally caught her breath.

Federation spacecraft. And this office – the comlink and computer interface with its viewscreen all bore the familiar and detested symbol, an arrow across a circle.

Space Command. She was on Space Command.

But there was more to it than that. Her attire, for one thing. On the Liberator Cally had opted for comfortable and practical, if occasionally slightly dull clothing. The gown that now clung to her upper body and swirled about her hips and thighs and legs was silk; she could feel its caressing luxury. It was white, stylish and sexy and definitely not something that Cally of Auron would have chosen to wear. It left bare far too much of her arms and neck and breasts.

It was however something Servalan would have chosen to wear.

Cally did not like the way her thoughts were heading. She had the horrible feeling that something very nasty was going on. The facts certainly bore that out. She considered them.

She was sitting in Servalan's office, in Servalan's chair, at Servalan's desk.

Apparently also she was wearing the Supreme Commander's clothing as well. She wondered whose face she was wearing.

She put her hand to her waist and found she was not armed. Neither was she asleep. Or maybe she was. Cally shut her eyes again and began a series of breathing exercises. It was an hallucination. It had to be.

She and all of the others had been under a great deal of stress recently. Being chased around the galaxy by a space corps consisting largely of homicidal maniacs had that effect on one. Considering her companions were also maniacs of one kind or another she wasn't surprised she had been stressed.

When she opened her eyes again she would be back on the Liberator. Someone had to have been playing a joke on her, albeit a joke in extremely bad taste. When she found out who that person was... Vila? Avon?... Orac? then that person – or computer if that were the case – would suffer. The Auronar may well have been a peace loving people, but they could take care of themselves. And they knew all about revenge...

She opened her eyes.

Space Command again. No, still. Very substantial, and very real. She sighed, stood up and came out from behind the desk. She wobbled slightly, then looked down and scowled as she saw the fragile and very impractical footwear this particular hallucination had wished upon her. She slipped her feet out of them and took several steps in relative comfort.

Part way across the room, she froze as after a perfunctory knock the door opened and a mutoid entered. Cally tensed for action, flight or fight or whatever the situation would demand, but the creature merely nodded courteously, handed her a computer printout then nodded again and retired. Before it did so it said a very puzzling thing indeed.

"Here is the information you requested, Supreme Commander, and also a message."

Cally stared after the mutoid, giving a silent scream as the door slid shut behind it.

Supreme Commander.Her!

A mirror, that was what she needed. After all, this was Servalan's office. There had to be a mirror somewhere.

Yes, there it was, at the end of the room, above a cabinet containing drinks. Cally approached it with all the caution she would accord a very unstable explosive and peered hesitantly into the glass. Then she recoiled in horror.

The face looking back out at her was not hers; it was that of Supreme Commander Servalan. She screamed silently again and reached unthinkingly for one of the bottles. She wasn't exactly sure what it contained, but the basic ingredient had to be alcohol and Cally had a very un–Auron like need for a stiff drink. Quite out of character for her, but maybe not for Servalan. She had a fleeting and very clear understanding of how Vila probably felt ninety percent of the time as she poured herself a generous glassful and drained it, then tottered back to the desk.

Finding she still held the computer printout in her hand, she placed it on the desk and regarded it blankly.

Not a joke then, and clearly not the work of anyone or anything on board the Liberator either; everything felt too real. And after all, she was an Auron, she could tell the difference between reality and illusion. Well, most of the time anyway.

This was real.

So, she really was on Space Command, and to everyone else, if the mirror and the mutoid were any indication, she was also Supreme Commander Servalan. But how had this come about, what had caused it and how long would it remain this way? She was thoughtful, her face creasing into a frown as she sat and considered the matter.

Finally, the words of the printout permeated her bemused brain. One, the fleet was ready and waiting for her command to depart; her flagship awaited her presence, and two, Space Commander Travis had arrived at Space Command and would be there, in her office, in fifteen minutes. He presented his compliments and hoped she would not be too busy to see him before her departure. He had some very important news for her.

Cally's eyes went chill and she clenched her fists. She remembered Space Commander Travis, only too well. The events of that near disaster on planet Centero were far behind her, but she remembered them well and would always do so. She relaxed a little and leaned back, and wondered...

Travis. How would she deal with Travis? She knew how she would liketo deal with the man. Her mouth twitched at the delightful image of Supreme Commander Servalan summarily executing him. Personally. Then she shook her head regretfully. It just wouldn't do.

And – her departure? Cally wondered just where it was she was planning to depart to? That, at least, she could find out. Avon had taught her enough about computers to enable her to persuade the Federation information console at her desk to give her that information very quickly. So...

She sat back and steepled her fingers thoughtfully. She would play the role she had found herself cast in, for the moment. At least until she was able to find out exactly what was going on, or work out some way to get back to the Liberator.

When Space Commander Travis entered she wondered briefly if he were in fact who he appeared to be. Maybe hers was not the only false face on Space Command. It was a disconcerting thought.

"Travis. How...pleasant to see you again." She stood and held out her hand graciously, regarding him in what she hoped was a suitably Servalan like manner.

"Servalan." He stood before her, his manner almost but not quite respectful, and not even almost masking the menace of his fanaticism. "You are preparing to leave Space Command?"

"That is correct. And I believe you have some important information for me?"

"Yes. I know where to find Blake." He could not conceal his anticipation at the thought of the man in his power. Cally wondered how he would react if he knew who she really was. "I wish to accompany you when you leave here."

"Indeed." She looked him up and down. "Continue."

"Your intended course will take you almost directly to the sector where they were last seen." He paused for effect. "Less than ten standard hours ago the Liberator was detected, maintaining a stationary orbit around the planet Queelar. Indications were that it was damaged, but the extent of the damage is not known. We can be there in less than a day. Think on it, Servalan. Blake, and the Liberator. We can destroy them totally, while they are still concerned with repairing their ship."

"I am thinking on it," she muttered. Damage? What damage? There had not been even the threat of potential damage at the time she had gone to sleep. Admittedly, she had no way of telling how long ago that had been. But the name of the planet was familiar. If only she knew exactly why they would have gone there in the first place...

"Do I take it, Space Commander, that you are therefore officially requesting permission to travel on board my flagship?" She regarded him blandly and he stared back.

"Take it so, Supreme Commander. Yes." He frowned. "Is there a problem, Servalan? You do not seem to be quite yourself."

"There is no problem." She shook her head. "We are ready to depart, Travis. You may accompany me." Her smile was gracious, if a trifle strained, as he took her arm and they swept regally from the office.

Unseen, unheard, Q sniggered to himself. The Auron was proving to be a worthy subject of his... attention. This could indeed be very entertaining.

Oh, wonderful, thought Cally, with a sinking feeling she disguised ably. She had not the remotest idea of where anything on Space Command was...or had she? Suddenly, within her mind, clear and precise as if she had been born to it, was a map of the station. She knew exactly where to go. Whoever...or whatever had sent her here had not intended for her to be caught out in her pretence at being Servalan. She maintained her icy calmness, but inside she seethed with anger. Someone was going to pay for using her in this manner. Eventually.

She did not enjoy the flight; Travis hovered continually, almost salivating in his anticipation of attacking the Liberator and the presence of Federation mutoids gave her a headache.

Finally, the Liberator was within their sight and their sensors. She looked at it with hungry eyes, and behind her Travis radiated hatred. At the controls, the mutoid turned calmly and addressed the Supreme Commander.

"Target vessel is within sensor and attack range. It is stationary and no defences shields are apparent."

Cally sighed and watched it intently. Was there something wrong? Had the Federation fleet not been detected? Certainly this was uncharacteristic of Blake to offer a sitting target. Unless it was a trap... Or maybe they had problems of their own...

"Supreme Commander," the mutoid repeated. "The Liberator is within target range. We await your orders."

Travis could contain his eagerness no longer.

"Fire on them! Destroy them!"

"No." Her voice was flat. "Hold your fire."

"What are you waiting for, Servalan? Damn it, this is the opportunity I have been waiting for, to destroy Blake and his scum once and for all!"

"Be quiet, Travis!" She stared at him imperiously. "I do not wish to destroy the Liberator at this time."

"Why not?" he demanded and she fixed him with a cold and deadly stare.

"Are you querying my order, Space Commander? Do you dare?"

"I want Blake dead! I – "

"And I want the Liberator. Undamaged and available to the Federation. Simply destroying it is a total waste and a pointless action. I have a better idea."

"A plan? Do you have a plan that allows us to take it undamaged? And to destroy Blake as well?" He was eager, but torn between his desire for revenge and his hunger for power.

"I do believe so." Smiling, she sat down and leaned back elegantly in her comfortable seat. Moving her head slightly she addressed the mutoid. "Order the rest of the fleet to withdraw. We – this ship only – will remain here."

Travis scowled, and there was a new voice from behind him.

"Oh, she's devious, Space Commander. A very devious woman. But can you trust her?"

As he whirled, his arm outstretched as if to trigger his deadly left hand, the new arrival sauntered around to prop himself against a bank of controls and regard Cally. She nodded her head gently. The Auronar and the Continuum were not entirely strangers to each other.

"You. I should have guessed. But what are you doing here? You belong somewhere else. Somewhen else too, I'm certain."

"I was bored. This is much more fun." Q ignored the now spluttering Space Commander and merely pointed at the mutoid, who froze in mid move. "My dear Supreme Commander. You are looking well, Servalan. I may call you Servalan, mayn't I?" He took and kissed her fingers, grinning at her almost roguishly. Cally's mouth tightened and she pulled her hand away.

"Under the circumstances, I think you had better. Travis, do relax. This is Q, of the Continuum. He is here on only a brief visit. A very brief visit." Ignoring the fuming Travis she returned her attention to Q. "This, I presume, is all your doing?" He shrugged expressively.

"Who else has the capability, I ask you?" He regarded Travis, looking the man up and down disdainfully. "A poor specimen, Servalan. Why do you tolerate him?"

"I – did not have any choice. Did I?" Her voice was edged but she was beginning, against her will, to be amused by his complete, total, absolute and utter gall. Q stared at Travis who was still speechless with rage and then he snapped his fingers.

"I don't like you. Go away." He blinked at the mutoid. "You too."

"Oh dear," Cally said, as she found herself and Q alone. "Where did you send them?"

"Does it matter? Do you care? About him and that – thing?"

"Yes." Her voice was very definite. "I care because you have no right to do what you have done. What are you playing at, Q? Why are you here? And what else have you done?"  
He grinned, raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"You'll find out. Eventually."

"What have you done with Servalan?"

Q laughed. "She's in excellent hands. Vila is looking after her."

"Oh no." She shook her head. "Q, you really are the limit. What do you think you are doing? Poor Vila."

"He appears to be managing very well. After all, he thinks she's you."

"What?"

"She has – ah – amnesia. And to him she appears to be you." He smiled slyly. "Just as you appear to everyone to be her."

"And what exactly is the point of this little charade?"

"Fun."

"Whose fun?" she demanded angrily.

"Mine, of course."

Then the communication console beeped and Avon's voice filled the flight deck of the flagship.

"Servalan? Supreme Commander, we are going to blast you and your ship into oblivion. Tell us where Vila and Cally are first and we'll make it quick and painless. Relatively painless."

/Avon – /

"Uh, uh." Q shook his head and Cally's telepathic cry was silenced. "That's not fair. You'll have to convince them some other way." Furious, she swung on him.

"You are the one who is not being fair, Q. You are not even supposed to be here, in this time/space continuum."

His expression froze.

"Don't you dare to presume to tell me, Cally of Auron, what I may or may not do. Ever."

He disappeared in a flash and left her to her fate.

Cally hoped she didn't sound as terrified as she was. Death itself didn't terrify her, but the idea of being blasted by the Liberator, with all the crew believing she was Servalan, was enough to scare anyone. She touched the communicator panel.

"Liberator, hold your fire. Listen to me."

"Why?" Avon demanded then Blake's voice interrupted.

"A last request, Servalan? Only if you have information about where Vila and Cally are. So make it quick."

"Teleport onto my ship and take me back to the Liberator. It's important."

"Oh?" from Blake.

"Go on, Servalan." Avon's voice was low and threatening and very, very sceptical.

"I do know what has happened to Vila and – Cally." She dropped her tone. "Well, I certainly do know what's happened to Cally. And I am sure I can help you to find Vila." Somehow...if only she could put thumbscrews on Q...what a delightful thought. And alas, impossible.

"So tell us."

"You must take me onto the Liberator. A condition of my agreeing to help you."

"We do not need your help, Servalan – " Avon started but Blake interrupted him again.

"Why have you sent the rest of your fleet away?"

So they had gone, Cally thought in relief. She wasn't sure whether the mutoid had followed her instructions before Q had arrived on the scene.

"As a sign of good faith," she said. "Will you agree?"

"Hmm. All right. Who else is on your ship?"

In spite of the situation, Cally smiled.

"At the moment, I really have no idea. However, I am alone on the flight deck."

"If this is a trap, Servalan, or an attempt at one, then you will die."

"I know. And it is not a trap. Trust me. Please."

"She ignored the rude noise from the communication console and held her breath, then busied herself quickly at the controls. It would be just like Q to return Travis and the mutoid at the same time as the Liberator crew teleported onto her ship. She hoped it wouldn't happen. It had been difficult enough to convince Avon and Blake to cooperate. She was however fortunate. Avon, gun in one hand and a spare teleport bracelet in the other, appeared in front of her. She smiled in relief as she accepted the bracelet, clipping it automatically around her right wrist and looking back at him steadily. Avon stared at her. Why would Servalan, being right handed, put the bracelet around her right wrist? He shrugged mentally. A very minor point.

"Liberator, bring us back."

And as they shimmered into nothingness, Q, on his way to check the progress of his other victims, remembered Travis and the mutoid. Not that he really cared about them, but simply leaving them in limbo was messy. The others of the Continuum didn't care for that sort of thing. Not, mind you, that Q cared one scrap what the others of the Continuum thought, but... He snapped his fingers. Travis and the mutoid rematerialised on the now deserted flight deck of Servalan's flagship.

On the Liberator, Cally removed the bracelet and handed it over then smiled at Jenna who was seated at the teleport controls.

"Jenna, you don't know how good it is to be back."

"Back?" the other woman echoed blankly. "What do you mean, Servalan?"

"This is going to be extremely difficult for you to believe. I wouldn't believe it myself if it were happening to someone else." She half turned to Avon, who still held his handgun pointed in her direction. She sighed and put out her hand gently to push it aside. "Do be careful with that gun, Avon. You could hurt someone. I am not Servalan. I am Cally."

"What is it?" she whispered and Vila smiled faintly.

They had gone cautiously down the flight of stone steps, but for only a brief distance. The stairs had curved and broadened and they had come out into an enormous open space. It was filled with a bewildering array of stairs, steps, ladders and staircases, some secured and others apparently floating in mid air, coming and going nowhere.

And all of them on different planes. It was as if a giant hand had tilted the cavern many times over, each time adding more sets of stairs, so that they now lay at odd angles to one another, and the angles were bewildering and confusing.

"Oh, clever. Very, very clever," he murmured but did not answer her question.

"What is it?" she repeated and he turned to her.

"An Escher maze." He shook his head gently. "I've heard of them but I never expected ever to actually see one." He sighed. "But an Escher maze is a total impossibility. There is no way one can exist." He paused and turned to her. "You understand what I'm saying, Cally. This does not exist. I'm real, I think. Maybe you are. Maybe I'm dreaming. Maybe I am dead after all and this is some sort of afterlife, maybe even hell." He chuckled. "If so, it's the most fascinating concept of hell I've ever encountered."

"What are you babbling on about?" she demanded and he frowned thoughtfully.

"It's a real puzzle, isn't it?"

This new voice belonged to neither of them, but to the tall well built man who strolled casually towards them, with absolutely nothing beneath his feet but thin air. She blinked and Vila regarded the stranger with something like respect. Q smiled; respect he liked.

"You created the Escher maze?" He caught himself and amended the query. "No, it's not real. You created the illusion of the Escher maze?"

"I did indeed." Q smirked.

"Is it real? Or just an illusion?"

"Yes, well, that's the question, isn't it?"

"But why?" Cally demanded. "And how do we get through it? Can we get through it?"

Vila looked at the newcomer steadily.

"More to the point, do we want to?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Q conceded with a grin, "but you have to."

"Why?" Vila looked around deprecatingly. "What I mean to say is, well, it looks like fun and a challenge, but why should we have to do it? For you? For your entertainment perhaps?"

Q laughed. "Exactly."

Cally straightened up and regarded him in a most unCally like and imperious manner.

"And who precisely are you?"

"I am Q. At your service." He grinned maliciously. "Well, not exactly at your service. It would be more correct to say that you are at my service."

"What does that mean?" she snapped and Vila stared at her, a touch of puzzlement in his eyes. Q looked at them, the grin still on his face.

"Vila. And Cally... You are Cally, aren't you?"

She stared and hesitated. "He says I am."

"Maybe you're not Cally. Has that occurred to you? Maybe you're just a figment of my imagination? Or even his? Maybe he's a figment of your imagination?" He looked at Vila teasingly. "Or maybe she's really someone you'd much rather not have with you." He smiled. "Now, Vila, who would you least like to have with you anywhere? Think about it."

"What do you mean?" Vila was suddenly serious. "If you created this illusion we're in, as you say you did – "

"And indeed I did create it. I am Q of the Continuum, after all."

"Ah, so it is an illusion then?"

"Any time you want to test it by walking on thin air, do feel free."

"Hmm." Vila grunted thoughtfully but did not move.

Q grinned, then casually he reached into space, retrieved an apple and bit into it. After one bite he frowned and tossed it away. It disappeared into the void from which it had come. There was a new steeliness in the man's tone. "My powers are limitless. I can create anything I fancy. Or destroy it."

"Q? Is that your name?" Vila asked. Beside him Cally was standing very still, her face creased in a frown as if she were trying to remember some vital but elusive piece of information.

"Yes. You have noted, Vila, and – ah – Cally, that it was not necessary for me to ask your names."

"You brought us here." Vila tilted his head at Q and the man smiled blandly.

"Correct. You're absolutely correct. You're smarter than they all give you credit for, aren't you?" Vila ignored the taunt.

"So why?"

"For my entertainment, of course." Q leaned forwards mock confidingly. "Vila, I have all these omnipotent powers. What use are they if I don't have a bit of fun with them when I want?"

Vila shook his head slowly.

"Fun," he said slowly. "But why us, Q?"

"Just your luck, I suppose." The other man spread out his hands. "Time for me to go and see how the others are making out."

"Others? What others?" Cally's voice was edged and sharp. Most unlike Cally, Vila thought. He looked at the woman with new interest. If she wasn't Cally, then who was she? Someone he wouldn't want to be around, Q had said...

Q was watching him, his expression mocking and unkind.

"I gave her amnesia." He chuckled maliciously. "The question is, do you really want her to regain her memory? To know who she really is?"

Vila was even more suspicious and confused as Q continued.

"Things – as you are by now aware – are not what they seem to be." He let his gaze rest on the woman. "And she is not what she appears to be either. I gave you a clue, Vila. Work it out for yourself."

Then he smiled, snapped his fingers and disappeared. Vila and – Cally? – regarded each other in bewilderment.

"What the hell was all that about?" He stared at her, concerned. Her expression had hardened, and she was now even less like the Auron woman he knew so well. She reminded him now of someone else. Someone he would much rather not be alone with anywhere, Q had said, let alone in the middle of an illusionary Escher maze.

"Well, Vila, where do we go from here then?" She was regarding him with something almost like amusement in her face and Vila frowned. Why did he amuse everybody, even – and especially – when he didn't want to? When all he wanted was a straight answer and a drink and a sleep, in that order.

"You're not Cally," he said flatly and she shook her head gently.

"No. No, I am not. I know now who I am and let me assure you that that creature is going to pay for this." She smiled at him, very faintly and almost pityingly. "You do know who I am, you know."

"Ah – um – " He pulled a face. This was a nightmare. It had to be. But he did agree with her on one point. Q would suffer... eventually. "I – have a horrible feeling I really don't want to."

Her voice was a silken purr.

"I had suspected at first that you were more intelligent than your dossier indicated. But it appears I could have been wrong. Maybe you are in fact less intelligent. You are certainly no braver than your dossier indicated."

Vila shook his head in dawning – and panicked – recognition.

"Servalan!"

She nodded slowly.

"It pains me immensely to admit this, Vila, but it does appear at the moment that Q, as he calls himself, has deceived us both. What else he may have done I do not like to imagine. So, like it or not, we shall have to cooperate with each other. For the moment anyway." She was standing very close in front of him and he grimaced and stepped backwards, but she caught at his wrist. "Careful!" She was almost laughing at him, but he didn't realize the source of her amusement. When he did, of course, it was too late.

"So do you have any suggestions?" he said and she pointed.

"This, I presume, is some kind of test. A puzzle. You're good at game and puzzles, aren't you? I have heard you play an excellent game of speed chess." She sniggered. "Even if you do cheat. This looks simple by comparison." He sighed.

"All right." He surveyed the maze before them thoughtfully. "I suppose we should make for the other side of it, and the bottom. This is going to be difficult, Cally – I mean, Servalan." He almost laughed. "Under other circumstances, I suppose it really could be fun."

"Fun?" She stared at him coldly. "You are like that creature Q. You also have a weird idea of what constitutes fun."

"Yeah, I have, haven't I?" He grinned. "Well, it certainly beats having you chasing us around trying to kill us all. We can get through this somehow. I think." He squinted across the vault. Was it real? Or was it all an illusion? Was he in fact dreaming somewhere? He no longer knew what was, and what was not, real. Even worse, he had no idea how – or even if – he could distinguish reality from illusion. Beside him, Servalan – presuming she was indeed Servalan and not merely a figment of his, or Q's imagination, shook her head sadly.

"I do believe I have a headache, Vila."

Me too, he thought sourly. But his had to be worse.

Q scowled. Having left Servalan and Vila to the delights or otherwise of his illusionary Escher maze, he had drifted back to the Liberator to discover that Cally, although still to all appearances Servalan, had managed to convince the rest of the crew of her true identity. Not only that, but she had even managed to get Travis on their side...as least on their side enough not to fire on them.

Cally had quite enjoyed the expression on the Space Commander's face when the Liberator had hailed him, and she had smiled into the communicator.

"Travis, we have all been had. Both you and I, and also the crew of the Liberator."

He had been at first disbelieving and then livid with rage. For a moment, she had been concerned he would have an apoplectic fit in front of the mutoid, who simply stood there blank faced. Cally had convinced Travis she would be able to guarantee the safe, eventual return of the Supreme Commander and had thanked him, her eyes glittering with malice, for the recent pleasure of his company. They had all watched the retreat of the flagship with relief. Apparently, Q's dismissal of Travis and the man's subsequent sojourn in the limbo to which he had been sent, had gone far towards convincing him of the truth of her words. They shared a moment's truce against a common tormentor. For Q's sake Cally was rather glad he was beyond Travis's revenge.

For a short time the Liberator had been a safe and friendly place, in spite of the face and body she currently wore.

And then Q returned. He appeared on the flight deck but before any of the crew could do more than move their hands towards their weapons he gestured and they froze. Except for Cally. Q strolled over to seat himself on the lounger and look up at her, letting his disappointment show.

These people, he decided, just didn't play fair. They had no finesse. He was almost nostalgic for Jean–Luc.

"Cally, you really are a spoilsport. Here I was, going to considerable trouble to make life much more interesting for you – " He let his disdainful stare flicker over, then dismiss, Blake and Avon, frozen in mid–move. "Heaven knows, you must have needed entertainment with people like them around you." He smiled towards Jenna's similarly motionless figure. "And she, although decorative, is hardly what one would consider a stimulating companion. Come on, admit it – you can be honest with me. Didn't you, just for one brief period of time, enjoy being Supreme Commander Servalan? All that power – "

"No." Cally's voice was icy. "I did not enjoy it. Not even for one moment. I am an Auron, not a sadistic megalomaniac. You've had your fun, Q, and very childish fun it's been, too. Now do as I say. Put Servalan back where she belongs and give us Vila back. Then – "

"You want Vila back? Really?" He let his gaze rest on Avon and pointed negligently. The man unfroze and took a step forwards. "Avon, do you want Vila back?"

Avon didn't even hesitate. Later, in the privacy of his cabin, he might ask himself why. But all he knew was that Q, whom Cally seemed to know, and certainly dislike, was more of a nuisance and a danger than Vila ever was a pest.

"Yes. Bring him back and go away." He gave a very Avon–like smile. "We don't care about Servalan and Travis."

"Oh." Q flipped his finger and froze Avon again. He stepped across to the man and looked him up and down. The clothes...he definitely liked the clothing style of this one. Vila had appeared to have dressed himself in whatever had come first to hand. He snapped his fingers, almost preening at his new outfit of silver and black, then turned back to Cally.

"It was fun, but, wasn't it?"

She met his gaze directly and coolly, totally ignoring his change of attire.

"No."

Q pulled a face, like a spoiled little boy. Things were supposed to go the way he wanted, not they. And that Escher Maze had been hard work to create. He had been really looking forwards to seeing what Servalan and Vila would do with it. Maybe he just hadn't given them enough motivation to play it his way. He sighed. Well, that could be rectified. He would up the stakes a bit. But not with this little lot. A woolly minded idealist, a prim minded Auron, an egotistical computer geek and a decorative smuggler. Huh! They weren't a patch on Jean–Luc's little lot.

He grinned at them, and Cally felt unease. A grin on the face of Q meant no good for anyone except himself

"I tell you what, I'll give you all another chance. A chance for more excitement and suspense." He paused for effect. "I'll let Vila rescue you."

"No – " Cally started but it was too late as Q winked at her and disappeared. The others recovered movement and as they all clustered around Cally Orac spoke in its prissy and pedantic tone.

"The Liberator and its contents are undergoing an anomalous molecular inversion."

"What?" They all rushed to various controls and readout panels and Orac continued. Zen remained silent.

"The ship is enclosed in a bubble of non-being."

"A stasis field?" Avon queried. There was silence for several moments. Then Orac went on.

"That is correct. And the dimensions of the stasis sphere and everything in it are decreasing. The rate of diminution is – "

"That is not possible!"

" – extraordinary rapid. The Liberator is encased in a sphere now approximately forty centimetres in diameter. It is apparently being carried by the being who called himself Q. We are – " Then Orac, like Zen, was silent. The occupants of the flight deck stared at each other.

Blake was the first to find his voice.

"Vila – is going to rescue us? Vila?"

Avon made a sound of derision.

"Well now, this is going to be an interesting experiment." He turned to regard them all. "Remind me to thank him, should we all survive the experience."

Q, carrying the stasis sphere, sniggered. They really should have cooperated with him when they had the chance. Well, now it was too late. They would have to accept that he made the rules around here. They would all have to play along with him.

This was almost as much fun as teasing poor Jean Luc...

"Well, well, and what have you two been up to while I've been... elsewhere?"

They swung to regard him, both their gazes taken immediately by the crystalline sphere he held, apparently casually, in one hand.

"The Liberator." Servalan's eyed widened and she half smiled. "Is that real?" Q gave her a cool stare.

"Is anything? What do you think?" Vila stared at him.

"So that's what you're after." Q laughed derisively.

"Certainly not!"

"Don't you want the Liberator?" Well, everyone else seemed to, why should Q be any different? But he was.

"Me?" Q's face twisted in disdain. "And what would I do with such a primitive space vessel? Really, Vila – " He laughed scornfully. "I assure you I have no wish or desire to possess your ship." He smiled slyly and indicated Servalan. "She however does want it."

"I know." Vila was sour.

"Well then." Q chuckled, more than a mite maliciously. "I shall give it to whichever one of you can reach it first. Reach me, that is." He laughed again, snapped his fingers and disappeared, the image of the Liberator going with him.

Vila and Servalan regarded each other in consternation and then her beautiful face hardened.

"You have no chance, Vila, of defeating me. None whatsoever. Give up now and let me have the Liberator."

"Really?" He raised his eyebrows. "And what, Supreme Commander, would I get out of such a bargain?"

She smiled. "You'd get to live." From beneath the flowing folds of her gown she produced the handgun he had been carrying when they first met. "Well?"

He shook his head and spoke at the same time as Q rematerialised and zapped the weapon from her grip.

"Naughty, naughty, naughty, Servalan. Cheating is not permitted. Especially cheating in the form of killing off the opposition." His taunt lingered in the air as he disappeared again, the weapon going with him. Servalan sighed.

"Back to where we started." She shrugged eloquently. "Well then, Vila, if I cannot dispose of you than I suppose we shall just have to cooperate with that creature." She cast a venomous glare in the direction of Q's disappearance. "For the moment anyway."

"Yes, but cooperating with him means not cooperating with each other." He pulled a face. "Maybe we could just refuse to play his game any more. But I don't suppose I couldn't trust you, Servalan, to play to my rules either."

"No. Not with the Liberator at stake. And this maze – "

"Is not real. I told you. It is an illusion. It cannot exist. Look at it. Imagine the gravitational forces necessary to maintain any one of those sets of stairs – "

"Imagine the power he already possesses and has made use of." She shook her head gently, an avaricious glint in her eyes. "No, Vila, it may be a deception, but it is real enough for us to have to play at his game, and by his rules. I am afraid this is where we part ways. I want the Liberator, you see, and I am prepared to do anything necessary to acquire it."

Very deliberately she turned her back on him and made her way down a staircase that led towards the centre of the vault. Vila stared after her and shook his head slowly. He sat down, temporarily at a loss as to his next move. Below him, he could see Q, leaning casually against a carved post at the bottom of one set of stairs. Vila frowned. The glittering sphere containing the Liberator was in Q's hand, and the man was admiring it, turning it this way and that as if to catch the light and to admire its shape. Servalan had reached the lower step of the staircase and hesitated, uncertain of her next step.

The maze was an illusion. It had to be. But whether it was real or not... Vila came to an abrupt decision and then refused to allow himself to reconsider. He launched himself into space, aiming at Q and the glittering prize he held.

He hit the ground with a thump, but now snatched neatly from Q's grip and firmly clutched in Vila's very talented hands was the crystalline stasis sphere containing the miniaturised Liberator. He grinned in relief and triumph, made even sweeter by Servalan's scream of thwarted desire. Q leaned over him, his expression unreadable.

"Well now, Vila Restal, and what am I to do with you?"

"Let me go. Let us all go." He still lay on the ground, but with the Liberator held firmly and protectively to him. "You said you would give the Liberator to whichever one of us reached it and you, first. You must keep your word now."

Q raised his eyebrows.

"Must? Must? You are telling me what I must do? Be very careful, Vila."

Vila shook his head.

"It's finished, Q. Over. We have played your game and we have beaten you. Let us go."

"Hmm." Q leaned back and looked at him, then across to where Servalan was still trying to move down one of the staircases. She appeared to be deliberating if, like Vila, she could leap down and snatch the prize. Then he shrugged and snapped his fingers. "I was getting bored with you all anyway. You're no fun any more. Go home. All of you."

Vila lay on his back and groaned, the glittering sphere of the Liberator melting to nothing and disappearing in his grip. Avon stood and prodded him delicately with his foot.

"Vila. Wake up, Vila!"

"Huh? Oh..." He half raised his head and looked around and groaned, then got up slowly. "Ow. Oh. That hurts." His eyes met the concerned face of Cally and he looked wary. "Cally...are you Cally?"

"Yes, Vila." She smiled brilliantly. "I am. And we are both safely back on the Liberator."

"Thanks be for that." None too steadily, he made his way to a lounger and lowered his aching body into it. "You just wouldn't believe what I've been through!"

Behind Avon, Blake jabbed him in the ribs. Avon hesitated and cleared his throat uncertainly. Vila stared at him.

"Um, Vila... Um..." Jenna joined Blake and nudged Avon again, a bit harder. He smiled, an almost gracious expression, then swallowed hard before managing to get the words out. "Thank you."

Q was considerably less than impressed. Then he brightened. Supreme Commander Servalan had just undergone an extremely stressful experience. Doubtless, she would be traumatised and would require counselling. And he knew just where he could find the perfect counsellor for her. Deanna Troi had been trained, after all, for dealing with all kinds of mental problems. He was certain that she would find Supreme Commander Servalan an interesting client...

the end!


End file.
